Damien

Three Months Later

A small hand rubs my cheek and I open one eye. Hovering over me is a smiling Sami. When I open the other eye, she looks over at the beauty sleeping next to me and giggles. Sami was just a baby when her mom left, so she’s never seen a woman in my bed before. By the smile and giggle, it doesn’t seem to bother her. Over the last three months, Tinsley has slowly become part of our family. Sami has taken to her as if she’s known her forever. We’ve gone hiking, out to dinner, and even taken Sami on a weekend trip to the Bronx Zoo in New York City. Trying not to wake Tin, I roll over off the bed and swoop Sami up with me.

“What are you doing up so early?” I ask while placing kisses on her soft cheek. She laughs as she wiggles away from my lips.

“I’m hungry. Can we wake Tinsley up?”

“How about we let her sleep a little longer. You and I can make breakfast, then surprise her with it in bed.” Sami’s eyes light up as she jumps up and down.

“Okay. Can we put it on a tray?” she asks, her excitement bubbling out of her.

“Of course we can.” She scurries down to the kitchen as I follow. She’s already in the fridge pulling out bacon and eggs when I walk in. “What are we making?”

“An om-omelet,” she states. “Aunt Dahlia says girls like it when men make them.” I roll my eyes and make a mental note to kick my sister’s ass before helping Sami set out the ingredients. She pulls a stepstool over to the island as I grab a bowl from the cabinet and place it in front of her. While she breaks eggs into the bowl, I go over to the stove and start cooking some bacon while watching her over my shoulder, her little tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she concentrates. She places the empty shells back in the carton—another bad habit my wonderful sister has taught her. Once the bacon is done, I set it aside and wipe the grease from the pan. After adding a little milk to the eggs, I hand Sami the whisk. This is her favorite part, and thankfully, she’s gotten better at it and no longer sloshes eggs all over the counter.

Sami looks up at me, her big blue eyes full of questions. I breathe in, preparing myself for whatever she’s about to ask me. “Is Tinsley my new mommy?” she asks, her voice hopeful. How the hell do I answer this one? A bead of sweat drips down the side of my face.

“Would you like her to be?” Great. Now I’m answering her question with a question to buy myself some time. I’d love for Tinsley to be a permanent part of our family—my wife and Sami’s mom—but I’m still playing on Tinsley’s time and doing my damnedest not to push for anything permanent.

“Yes. I love her, Daddy. She’s so nice and pretty.”

“I love her too, baby girl. Maybe someday soon she will be.

“Maybe that’s what I’ll wish for on my birthday.” I smile down at her. Most kids would be wishing for a pony or the latest toy, but not my sweet, loving daughter. Part of me is saddened by that. Here I thought I was doing a great job at playing both roles, but having Tin around just makes me realize she’s the piece that has been missing.

Finished cooking three omelets, we make some toast, and Sami runs out to the backyard, only to come back with a daisy from the garden. We place the flower in a vase and set it on the tray with everything else. She bounds up the stairs as I carefully follow behind. If I make it to the bedroom without spilling something, it’ll be a miracle.

“Surprise!” Sami yells as she enters the room, probably scaring the hell out of Tinsley. Laughing, I shake my head as I walk through the doorway. Tinsley is sitting up in bed with wide eyes and a hand over her heart. When she looks over at me, her eyes soften.

“We made you an omelet,” Sami says, wiggling her eyebrows. I am definitely having a talk with my sister. “And I picked the flower all by myself,” she squeals.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” Tinsley says as she sniffs the flower. I place the tray over Tinsley’s lap and sit down next to her. Sami climbs on the bed and sits in front of us, watching Tinsley expectantly. Offering her a smile, Tin takes a bite of her bacon and cheese omelet and lets out a moan. “That is the best omelet I’ve ever had,” she tells Sami. A proud smile crosses her face as she claps her hands and we all dive in, eating in a content silence.

“Daddy, what do you and Tinsley do at your sleepovers?” Next to me, Tinsley coughs as she chokes on her toast and I force myself to swallow my orange juice before it spews out.

“We just talk and sleep,” I tell her, clearing my throat as I pound a little on my chest. It’s not a lie. There’s been nothing physical past some hot and heavy make out sessions. Tinsley wanted slow, so that’s exactly what I’m giving her. “Can we all have a sleepover together?” Sami asks.

“That sounds like fun. Maybe we can camp out in the backyard at my house,” Tinsley says, and I can’t tell which one looks more excited about the idea. “I hear a certain little girl has a birthday coming up next weekend. I wonder who that is?” Sami raises her hand.

“My birthday is almost here.”

“What kind of party do you want?” Tin asks, and Sami taps her finger against her temple as if she’s in deep concentration. “A princess party. I want to dress like Cinderella,” she states.

“That sounds like fun,” Tin tells her, and I watch in awe as the two most important women in my life discuss everything involved in the perfect princess party. The more they talk, the more extravagant this thing gets. God help me when it’s time for her sweet sixteen.

After her plate is clean and every detail is ironed out, Sami retreats to her room to play. I remove the tray and place it on the dresser. Lying on the bed, I pull Tinsley into my arms.

“You do realize I have no idea how to throw a princess party, right?”

“I do. I’ll take care of everything. You just make sure you have Saturday off,” she tells me. This is what I’ve always wanted. A family. To be more specific, a family with Tinsley. As I hold her tight, I wonder what our child would look like.

“Do you want kids?” I blurt out. “Not now…obviously. I mean…one day. In the future. Definitely not now,” I stammer, trying to cover up the slip. Smooth, Damien. Real smooth. I completely lose my mind around this woman. All rational thought leaves me and all I can think about is getting closer to her and making her mine. She stiffens in my arms and I wish I could crawl in a hole and die. My heart pounds as I wait for her to say something. We used to talk about having kids. She wanted two, and I wanted three or four. I remember she would give me this look like I was crazy.

“Are you offering your services?” she laughs, playfully poking me in the chest. “I do want kids someday.”

“You still want two?” I ask, not knowing when to shut up it seems.

“Two, maybe even three. It all depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On whether I find the right guy,” she teases, and I narrow my eyes as a smirk lifts one side of my mouth. I love this playful side of her.

“Am I in the running?” I know I’m pushing my luck, but why stop now?

“Anything is possible,” she says, and I smile like a loon. I’m so glad she can’t see it. It’s possible I’m reading into this than I should, but at this point, I’ll take whatever she’s willing to give me. It feels like everything I’ve ever wanted is within my reach.